Bellarke one shots
by Andie Leigh
Summary: Exactly what the title says. Ratings vary! Request a prompt at my tumblr: skye-ofthe-skypeople
1. Red

Clarke's world was a swirl of red.

It seemed to be the only constant in an ever-changing life, whether it be the strange, wilting flowers that bloomed in the spring outside Camp Jaha, or the beckoning of blood that stained her pale hands evermore. It never washed away, either, no matter how hard she'd scrub and scrub and scrub, she remained dirtied by the mouth of war.

Sometime after the defeat of Mount Weather, she'd met a girl with red eyes. If she didn't stare, spoke to her without truly seeing, she could pretend that she was fine, and that her eyes didn't unnerve her, an innocent conversation.

When she looked back, she could see the red, and taste in the back of her throat the hot, thick blood as it began trickling into her stomach, and she could look no more.

She began to see red differently, however, the first time Bellamy had kissed her.

It was, as with everything on the ground, without patience, or structure. They'd been arguing, she knew, when suddenly there was only _him, _crowding her body with rough hands that felt _clean, _and with heat on his lips that _burned._

And he'd pulled away, stuttering out an apology with lips bruised red, and she'd wasted no time in pulling him back to her, swallowing the words and claiming the red of his lips.

Things had moved quickly between them, and neither of them regretted a second of it. They'd barley made it back to his tent, before they were tearing away offending clothes and delving into the secrets of each other's bodies. And as Bellamy had settled between her legs and made her scream his name into the night, filling the empty sky with memories that blistered the mundane existence around them, Clarke had clutched to the red, pulling his head from between her legs so she could revel in the taste of him, and of herself on his lips.

As he had pushed into her, framing her face always to confirm her certainty in the situation, she'd ran her fingernails along his back, biting into the skin as the pleasure mingled with pain, and reaching down to connect their lips once again as delighted desire had consumed her body, hands fisted in unruly curls.

There had been blood under her fingernails, just a little, and at the sight it now seemingly _seductive, _she had been unable to keep the smile off her face.

The next day, Bellamy had smirked at the stumble in her step, hands confident and fingers bold as he whispered unto her body gentle caresses and promises that bit into the coldest regions of her heart labelled _logic._

He'd stopped smiling, however, as a member one of the visiting tribes (friendlies) had attempted to seduce Clarke, biting on her bottom lip and keeping physical contact at all times, whether it be holding her shoulder, or brushing away non-existent specks of dirt.

Clarke had smiled at the woman, but otherwise hadn't reciprocated her actions, though still enjoying the way Bellamy's features had darkened considerably, a furious blush leading an enticing path down his thin shirt.

Unable to resist herself, she'd leaned over to whisper something in the woman's ear, (Lexa, she'd said her name was) which had been along the lines of: 'You're awesome, but I have something of a boyfriend watching, and he's getting jealous and it's really funny so could you help? Also, there's a mechanic here I_have _to introduce you to.' Lexa had looked slightly disappointed, though the smirk that toyed with her lips had shown her willingness to help.

After Clarke had introduced Lexa to Raven, she'd been gladly pulled into the alluring darkness of Bellamy's tent, whereas she'd ended up straddling him as he sat, sucking a hickey onto her neck.

She would've complained, had it not felt _so fucking good._

The next day, Bellamy had hugged Clarkes body to him, her neck sporting the fruits of his labour and his hands a possessive grip on her hips, to which she'd rolled her eyes and shoved him off, intending to find Lexa to say goodbye before she left.

Bellamy had tugged her back gently, leaning down to whisper the words that left her grinning until her lips seemed to ache.

_"You look good in red."_


	2. who better to watch beauty burn?

He only saw the blood.

The glinting steel had only nicked her tender skin, but already it began to trickle down her face, leaving a red staining in its wake_(notmenotmenotmecan'tseecan'tseecan'tsee). _Hungry eyes followed the movement, a feral heart beating in time to her quick, panic gasps of breath, the forest green shuddering, shrouding around them.

She spoke, words closing around them and her desperate eyes screaming for a hope of something long dead (his blackened heart like ashes now). She flickered like a flame in the light of a dying sun, and who better than a monster to watch beauty burn? It was easy to see in her loose grasp on the gun in her trembling fingers that she couldn't use it, even if she intended to. She was unprepared, weak, and efficiently unarmed.

She was perfect.

_(freeindeathbutdeathcomeslate)_

He hurls his body towards her, not expecting of her sudden twist that leaves her just out of his clawing reach. He screams into the starless night, and turns so suddenly that she has no time to gracefully skip out of his way, and is met the sudden agony with his tan fist against her stomach, and it feels as though he has reached inside her to tug at the string that keeps her together, already weak, it tears, shredding through her sanity.

The tears leak down her blood crusted cheeks, and her eyes so startlingly blue blink up at him, and it is all he can do to slam the axe down into her light of golden hair and eyes of sea and lips of blood.

_(lovethatbindsislovethatkills)_

She's so _quick, _a flash of blue before she's gone, floating into the embrace of the forest and the call of dusk. But he _pines _for the taste of her against his ravaged lips, _yearns _for the thrill of hunting his prey into the dark crevices of setting day, so he sets off after her somewhat limping figure, his able body covering the distances flat.

He tears through the undergrowth with a smirk in place, searching for his golden prey, but through the thickness of the forest, he only sees the green upon dirtied soil – no blue to be found.

But he _smells _her.

The blood overwhelms, thick and coating of anything else, hiding of her underneath, and for a second, it dizzies him, secludes him in a state of starved desire, and wishes for nothing, _nothing, _but her body surrendered to him.

_(fightitfighti t)_

He pretends for a moment he does not see the flash of blinding yellow that shudders behind thick bark, or hear the deafening snap of a twig underneath solid boots. He acts, for a moment, as though he is taking a leisurely walk in the woods, moments before darting forward and snatching at the girls hair, yanking her towards him.

She screams (they always do), and pushes against him, tiny fists beating against his hardened chest, and for a second, he thinks he almost _admires _the resilience in her eyes, and then something _claws _at him as she meets his eyes once more, and he is frozen in a fractured moment, and captured by her gaze that refuses to relent.

His grasp on the axe in hand tightens, as she leans towards him slightly. Something of a breathy moan tumbles helplessly from her reddened lips, as she leans to meet his lips.

_(clarkeclarkeclARKE)_

He feels _fear _and it is cold and its arms close around him like a cage and it is because her lips bite at his he knows _he knows _and so it is with a single push, that the grinning steel slices into her stomach.

She chokes against his lips, clutching to his shoulders tightly before slumping against him and falling at his feet.

He looks down, confused and-

_"Taking a walk in the woods, princess?"_

_"I need you, Bellamy. We all need you."_

_"Brave princess."_

_"I can't lose you too, okay?"_

Bellamy stumbled, clutching at his head as the memories roared into life, screaming painfully against his skull. Then, he does worst thing he could do at that moment.

He looks down.

She is pale, so very pale, a slither of moonlight to accompany the dying light, and the red blossoms dutifully against her stomach, the ground dripping scarlet. And if he could, at that very moment, Bellamy would sink his feet into the mounds of the earth and let it swallow him whole, falling beneath the plates and soil, and tumbling into oblivion, and scream into a void, if it meant that he did not have to watch his princess die.

He sinks to his knees, bringing her body in his lap.

"No no no no no please, Clarke, I need you, you can't leave me, you _can't leave me." _Her head turns only slightly in his lap, her eyes dying and a gentle smile only nearly there, her cold hand reaching to skim his rough jaw, catching at the tears that leak from the weakness in his heart, her gaze so warm, but her body so cold.

"It wasn't worth the risk." She whispers so softly, too softly. She smiles, and it's so final and fatal, that he's shaking his head, whispering her name and clutching at her body even before her eyes shutter close and her limp hand falls away from his burning skin.

"No, NO! CLARKE, NO, PLEASE!" He's screaming now, pleading with a god he doesn't believe in, and clutching at her hand to bring it once again to his skin. It's not the same – her arm only falls when he doesn't hold it there, and she's so _cold _that he tears away his furs to wrap them around her instead.

The forest is silent as he sobs, as he screams her name into the stars that drift into the sky, and as he mutters his apologies over and over again until the words seem to be without, lacking of this horrible _guilt _that pulls and tears and_beats a_t him.

His voice falters eventually, broken like the rest of him as he screams for her to return to his wanting embrace, body curled around hers.

They'll come soon, and they'll try to take her body, they'll try to pry his hands away from her, and tell him he needs to let her go, and he'll scream at them that's she's not dead and he'll beat at the hands of anyone that gets too close. Then Octavia will come, and she'll cry, and she'll tell him the same as they did, and he'll show her that he _can't, _and how could they expect him too? And he'll mourn and mourn and mourn, and in the end, he truly was a monster, that watched beauty burn.


End file.
